


eggs and bacon

by followsrabbit



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Ficlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 10:51:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11401011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/followsrabbit/pseuds/followsrabbit
Summary: Noora just wants to sneak out without waking William. She doesn’t succeed.(An alternate ending to 2x03)





	eggs and bacon

William Magnusson’s bed was utterly, offensively, _predictably_ comfortable. This was not surprising. William had a nice car; William had a nice apartment; of course he would have a mattress that sighed around your entire body and blankets that whispered, _no, don’t move, keep sleeping_ long after the sun had risen.

So, no, Noora was not particularly surprised that William’s bed was comfortable—only that she felt so comfortable lying next to him in it. She wasn’t supposed to.

She wasn’t supposed to eye the cool floor with _this much_ reluctance as she contemplated her early morning, pre-breakfast escape either. Beside her, William’s quiet breathing had the easy cadence of deep sleep, and _all_ the wisdom she’d accumulated over the last sixteen years seethed for her to leave before he woke. Before he opened his eyes and looked at her with them. Before he opened his mouth and spoke to her with it.

She was lucky to have woken up before him at all.

Swallowing her sigh, Noora eased her way out of bed, smoothing the wrinkles from her rumpled shirt and the tangles from her hair. Then she looked back. The barrier of pillows that she’d arranged between their bodies had turned flat and misshapen through the night, but had nevertheless, thankfully, survived. She’d woken up with her back molded against it, too aware of William’s shoulder pressing into its other side. Too aware that, if she hadn’t bothered with the pillows, sleep would probably have tricked her into spooning with him.

(Noora’s eyes shifted to said shoulder now. Said boy. She knew it was cliché to claim that people looked soft in sleep, but there was he was, his mouth blank, his eyes closed, his face smoothed free of arrogance and armor. His sheets curled against his chest, his head curled into his pillow.) (Unfairly soft.) (Everything about William was a cliché.)

She shook her head. If she wasn’t supposed to find William Magnusson’s bed appealing, she certainly wasn’t supposed to find the sight of him sleeping in it adorable.

So Noora sighed, started to turn, and—

“I like that you’re standing there, looking at me.”

She nearly stumbled at the sound of William’s half awake mumble, but somehow steadied herself before he opened his eyes to smile at her. Noora cursed herself for not running away the minute, the _second_ , she’d stirred awake. Lingering here, looking at him… She bit her lip. So incredibly dumb.

“I’m not looking at you,” she lied, backing away from the bed as William propped himself to his elbows. His eyes had been closed. He couldn’t know where she had been staring, what she had been thinking.

William rubbed the leftover sleep from his eyes. “Why else would you be standing there?”

“I…” Noora pushed her hair out of her eyes and wet her lips before answering, “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“So you were just going to leave.” The sheet slipped from his chest, revealing its bare, toned, pale span. The triangle tattoo, the angles of his hips—

Noora forced her gaze up to the ceiling. “Don’t you want to sleep in?”

And then he was climbing out of bed, abandoning the sheet altogether, unabashedly half-naked as he reached for a pair of jeans to tug past his hips. “I want to make you breakfast.”

He walked around the bed to face her. (Still half-naked.) (She _knew_ he owned plenty of shirts.) “Willhelm…” she said, gulped, suddenly lost in his proximity. Unsure of how to navigate it after the cocoa and guitar playing and text messages. He’d seen too much of her last night, for all that she’d stayed fully clothed. She’d seen too much of him. Her usual strategies for dealing with him felt outdated. “You don’t need to cook me breakfast.” She needed more time to adjust them.

“No. But I want to.” He strode past her and out into the hallway, eyebrows raised and lips crooked. “Unless you’d rather make breakfast.”

“No one needs to make breakfast.”

“Someone does. It’s the most important meal of the day.”

“Not _now_.” Hurrying to catch up with him, she rolled her eyes. “I have food at home. You can go back to sleep.”

The corners of his mouth didn’t dip, only stretched. “You’d call your flatmates before seven on a Saturday morning to let you in? That’s not very considerate.”

Noora itched to ask how he could possibly be so awake and so irritatingly stubborn before seven o’clock on a Satuday morning, less than five minutes after opening his eyes, but held her tongue. “You care about consideration,” she stated skeptically.

He nodded. “Fried or scrambled eggs?”

She narrowed her eyes. All traces of sleep had fallen from his face; back was the amusement, the cockiness, the attention, the interest, the perception _._

No one had ever looked at her like William did. _William_ didn’t even use to look at her the way he was now—not last semester, not even last month. Not until sitting beside her on that bench during their date. Not until sitting across from her last night as she strummed his guitar.

Noora shuffled her feet back and forth. It had been easier to dismiss him when he’d so clearly considered her a pretty challenge, and nothing more. When he didn’t stare at her like he _knew_ her; when she didn’t want to believe his stare. She opened her mouth, closed it, and finally settled on crossing her arms in reply.

His brown eyes— _so_ brown; so deeply, inconveniently brown—latched with hers, not blinking. “Noora. It’s breakfast. Relax. You don’t…” he ran a hand through his hair, pulling his gaze from hers to scan her face. “You don’t owe me anything for it.”

Her crossed arms loosened. Slightly.

William squinted at her. “You let me make you cocoa. How is this any different?”

A deep breath ran from her chest to her lips. Because that was last night. A fluke. Nothing had counted last night, because she’d _had_ to stay. (At first.) Choosing to sleep in William’s bed, choosing to eat breakfast with him…

“It’s just breakfast,” he repeated, brushing his dark, sleepy hair from his eyes. “I’ll drive you home after.” (He _needed_ a brush and a mirror.)

Noora flexed her fingers to keep from fixing the ends of his hair for him. Maybe that victory in willpower made it easier to release her chin into a nod and her lips into a small smile. “Scrambled.” Then, a second later: “You’re not driving me home.”

William grinned.


End file.
